


Without you, what good am I?

by ACatWhoWrites



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Yixing is a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatWhoWrites/pseuds/ACatWhoWrites
Summary: Sometimes, Yifan slips as a dog dad, but he has a remarkable husband to catch him, cover for his faults, and not let him forget.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Wu Yi Fan | Kris
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: EXO-M Fic Fest R2





	Without you, what good am I?

**Author's Note:**

> prompt no.9

Yifan knows something is up when Jongdae doesn't return his greeting after he returns home from an afternoon—so not _late_ —basketball game with friends. There isn't even a hum of acknowledgement, which is usually reserved for when his husband is reading or watching TV.

Peering around the corner into their little kitchen, Yifan finds Jongdae stirring a mug of what smells like strong tea. He knows he’s not quiet, and Jongdae should definitely have heard him. “...I'm home,” he calls gently.

“Yifan.”

 _Uh oh._ Not only was it his full given name and not an affectionate pet name, but it had that disappointed mom-tone that few perfect without having had children first.

He tiptoes up behind Jongdae, loosening his tie, and wraps his arms around the man with a low, “Jongdae.”

“Wu Yifan.” Oh, no. What did he do? He’s usually pretty good about picking up after himself, although neither of them will be starring in Better Homes and Gardens anytime soon. “Did you forget anything this morning?”

Yifan kisses his cheek with exaggerated fondness, but Jongdae doesn’t even flinch. So teasing won’t work. He really messed something up. “I don't believe I did, why?” He put socks on, rinsed his mug after his coffee, locked the door when he left....

“Explain to me why I was woken at 7:45 by a whining dog outside my door.” Jongdae turns his head just enough to look at Yifan out of the corner of his eye, still sharp even with the tired lines. “Not only did you forget to feed Yixing, but you didn't let him out to run.”

He’s even using Xing Xing’s full name. Yixing, usually Xing Xing, is their Chow Chow. He’s a patient dog and will hold his bladder for an entire day, if need be, but with his humans at home, there should be no need, and Yifan feels the weight of his failure as a dog dad settle across his shoulders..

“Oh, no, did he—?”

“No, but that's beside the point.” Jongdae rinses his teaspoon and sets it in the otherwise empty metal sink, turning in Yifan's embrace to lean against the counter. “We agreed that you could get a dog if you took care of him.”

“I know, but—”

“That meant you feed him, water him, take him for walks, bathe him, clean up after him… ”

“Of course, and I do—” Most of the time. He was preoccupied with texting an ETA to his flustered intern that morning. The design meeting had been moved up last minute, and Yifan does not reliably wake up to his phone. Even Jongdae slept through the first frantic calls; he was up late with his students for a concert. Years of military service and training usually have him out of bed, showered, shaved, and dressed with the sun, but he is embracing the life of a civilian more and more over the years. Sleeping in and spontaneous naps are a part of his life, now.

“This is the second time you've neglected him.” The cream-colored dog noses his way through his dog door, which never looks big enough for him, but most of his size is just fur and air, and sits beside the kitchen table to give his neck a good scratch.

“I was sick the other time!” Breathing out snot bubbles, coughing up bits of lung, too weak to get out of bed—the works. The dog had even stayed away from him and his weird noises and smells, but he’s still got a bit of puppy in him and probably would have eaten his used tissues, if Jongdae hadn’t kept him closed out of the room.

“And if I wasn't here to take care of you, you would have the same responsibilities, and where would you be?”

“But I do have you, and you're not going anywhere, right?”

Jongdae sighs, looking to Xing Xing as the dog nips his own toes. He’s due to be groomed; his feet are getting Grinchy. “I don't know, Yifan. I thought I’d married a reasonable, sensible, responsible man.” There’s a subtle change in his voice that Yifan snags like a lifeline. If Jongdae’s starting to get cute, he’s starting to forgive Yifan.

“Hey, now…I’m responsible! Besides—You're my _soul_ , and my highest inspiration. You're all I've got—.”

“Don't try to be charming, you little punk.” He only stands eye-level with Yifan’s mouth, but his attitude and personality make him tower over his husband. “I'm still not happy with you.” There’s a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His jaw has noticeable stubble, and Yifan notices he’s barefoot, not even wearing slippers.

“Oh, my love, my darling. I've hungered for your touch—a long, lonely time.” The song is something foreign and romantic with just a smidge of desperation in love that Yifan feels he identifies with. He closes his arms around Jongdae, pulling him close. “Time goes by, so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine?” He kisses his husband’s crown, then cheek. “I need your love. I need your love. God, speed your love to me.”

They sway in a sort of senior shuffle until Yifan feels something against his leg. Jongdae looks up to ask what’s wrong and follows his husband’s gaze, hooking his chin over Yifan’s arm. Xing Xing’s oddly cute blue-black tongue falls out of his mouth when he sees he has their attention.

Yifan looks back at Jongdae. “Wanna go for a walk?” Yixing’s tail rolls along his back.

“A walk?” Jongdae parrots. “Should we go for a walk?” Yixing’s tail shakes.

“Outside? Go outside for a walk?” Yixing bounces on his feet. “Who invited you, dog?” Xing Xing grumbles; he rarely barks, but he tells them that _yes,_ he’d really really love to go for a walk.

Jongdae lifts Yifan’s arms. “I guess I’ll put shoes on.” He backhands Yifan’s butt. “Go change.”

Yifan’s still wearing his basketball shorts. They’re fine when running around constantly, but it is still a bit more winter than spring, so he tosses them aside for some old sweatpants and dumps the clothes from his sports bag into the bathroom hamper to be washed.

“You’ll want a sweater, too. It’s cooled off.” He eyes his husband as he pulls a jacket over a rather large hooded sweatshirt from Yifan’s college alma mater. “It looks like a dress on you.”

“I’m still keeping my pants on.” Jongdae tries to hold Xing Xing’s fur down to clip his harness on. The hair fluffs out immediately, a stupid but charming style.

“That’s not exactly what I was implying, but you know I’d support you with or without pants.”

“Your bias is showing, dear.”

Xing Xing barges out the door before it’s fully open, leads the way down the cavernous hall, and immediately starts sniffing once they’re outside the apartment. Dirty piles of snow stand in the gutter, catching wet leaves and road debris. The grass that’s visible is already green, never given a chance to fully hibernate with the wild fluctuation in temperature.

They have a usual route, and the trio automatically turns to follow it. A couple girls ask to pet the Chow, which he takes in stride and gives them both grateful kisses on their hands.

Xing Xing pees on some trees, starts to chew some grass before Yifan hisses at him, and befriends a squirrel that leans between the bars of a low fence.

The sun’s set, but colors still spread across the sky before unveiling the stars. Without its warmth, the temperature drops, and Yifan stuffs his hands into his pockets. Jongdae takes the leash in his other hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Yifan asks if he’s alright, and he nods before taking Yifan’s hand in his jacket pocket.

Street lamps that are always lit seem brighter, but the light of the city is plenty to see by. Flashing neon catches his eye; the little corner cafe has moved out, and a bar has taken its place. Maybe he can talk Jongdae into checking it out.

He’s about to suggest they turn back when the Chow groans and lies down, rear legs straight out from his body. He licks his nose and ignores the tug of the leash.

“Well,” Jongdae sighs, “he’s done.”

Yifan ruffles the dog’s ears, screwing up his face at the hot dog breath in his face. “You lazy thing. Why walk us so far, if you weren’t going to make it?”

“He’s just lazy. If it wasn’t so _freakin’ cold_ , I’d be fine waiting for him to get on his feet…” Jongdae crouches down and smacks his lips. The kissy sounds interest Xing Xing, who lifts his head and sniffs Jongdae’s back. “C’mon, you big baby. Let’s go home.”

With great effort, he gets to his feet and puts his forepaws on Jongdae’s shoulders.

Yifan watches, dumbfounded, as his husband hefts their dog onto his back piggyback style. He’s not exactly a light dog, but he seems perfectly content being carried, dark tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and eyes mostly closed.

“You know, sometimes I forget just how strong you are, but remember—you’re not a cool thirty-five, anymore.”

“Look who’s talking!” Jongdae kicks at his husband’s legs as they start walking again. “You’re celebrating another decade in two years, and I still beat you in arm wrestling all the time.”

“Yeah, but you cheat.” He always twists Yifan’s wrist, claiming he’s just taking advantage of an opening. Yifan would let the man win, anyway, if he didn’t know Jongdae would know and kick his butt. “Can you carry him the whole way? We can switch.”

“I’ve done this enough times to know I can handle it.” Oh. A not-so-subtle stab at Yifan’s apparent ineptitude as a pet parent. “But thank you.”

The Chow manages to fall asleep on the way home. He slides off Jongdae’s back with a drawn-out groan, continuing his sluggish momentum to sprawl out on the floor. His tail wags when he’s pet, but that’s enough effort for the time being.

Yifan steps over him to join his husband in the kitchen. “Any plans for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” And here he was going to wine and dine Jongdae and try to earn some more points towards forgiveness. “Will it be edible?”

“Not if you keep an attitude like that.” Jongdae smiles sweetly, batting his lashes over the cookbook in his hands. It’s a gift from Yifan’s mom, a collection of photo-copied recipes from various family members and friends. Some are in Chinese; some are in English; Jongdae’s stuck a couple Korean recipes in, as well. Neither are ambitious or talented cooks, but they’ve made enough progress to be able to follow a recipe with varying degrees of success.

“You know I could just grill some burgers in, like, a tenth of the time it takes to make anything.”

“I never doubt your skills, Grill Master, but you know how greasy food makes you feel.” Opening the book to where a sheet of printer paper has been placed, Jongdae browses the ingredient list for the fourth time that day. His doctor has recommended medication and exercise, but he doesn’t like pills. A friend suggested a change in diet, sticking with foods that work against inflammation.

So far, they seem to have helped.

He pushes his sleeves up over his elbows and starts pulling the food he’d bought that morning out of the refrigerator while Yifan supervises.

“Since you carried our dog and threatened to beat me, you seem to be feeling pretty good,” Yifan comments, tone carefully neutral. He watches his husband’s hands but doesn’t touch them. There have been days when they’re so sore Jongdae will literally not move a finger.

Today, he’s opening drawers and cabinets and wielding a knife like a pro chef.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He passes Yifan the knife. The Navy motto inked into his forearm looks even bluer under the kitchen light. “Can I trust you to help me?” He instructs his husband on which vegetables to slice or chop as he mixes a marinade.

“No matter what happens, Jongdae, I’ll be here to help you. When you can’t use your hands, use mine.” They’re bigger and often clumsier, but they’re also incredibly gentle.

Jongdae pauses his stirring and stares at the bowl long enough for Yifan to nearly ask if he’s okay, but his husband turns and stands on his toes to kiss Yifan’s cheek and whisper his thanks.

Xing Xing groans and rolls over. The only other sounds are the unsteady crack of the knife against the cutting board and clanging scrape of a whisk in the metal bowl. When Jongdae starts singing, Yifan doesn’t join in, enjoying the single-seat concert.

**Author's Note:**

> Just because stuff happens as we age, no matter the age, the suggestion here is Jongdae has rheumatoid arthritis. I once read an entire cookbook about foods and meals to ease inflammation...
> 
> Not having much, if any knowledge, of classic love songs from Korea or China, I went with an American one that my parents really enjoyed. The title's from the same song, because I am unoriginal.
> 
> I also use the weather I'm experiencing when writing. It's still snowing here, but it's very dry and doesn't stick to anything. I kinda like it.


End file.
